Behind These Emerald Eyes
by Card Carrying Villains
Summary: Cas is just...gone. He disappeared after defeating Raphael, and try as he might, Dean just doesn't know what to do anymore. He's lost another friend, another person he considered part of his makeshift family. He's just...gone. Spoilers for 6x22. By Clubs


Behind These Emerald Eyes

A fic by Clubs

"_I told you everything  
>Opened up and let you in<br>You made me feel alright  
>For once in my life<em>

_Now all that's left of me_  
><em>Is what I pretend to be<em>  
><em>Sewn together<em>  
><em>But so broken up inside"<em>

"Dude, you okay?"

Dean jerked out of his thoughts, looking up at his brother, sitting across the table and looking at him with concern. He realized that he was just sitting there, numbly holding his fork. The pie in front of him was untouched, and he sighed, putting down the utensil and shoving the plate away.

"Yeah. Fine." He said, avoiding Sam's worried and skeptical gaze by staring out the window at the diner parking lot.

"You sure? Usually you'd be on your second piece. And have the waitress's phone number." Sam insisted, gesturing first to Dean's pie, which hadn't been so much as glanced at, let alone eaten, and second to the waitress that was currently refilling some guy's coffee with a dazzling smile. Dean glanced at her, brow furrowed. He hadn't even noticed her before now. He shrugged, taking a sip of water for lack of anything better to do.

"Just not feeling it today I guess." He said, attempting a smirk, which looked fake and disappeared quickly. Sam sighed.

"Man, c'mon." he said, and tried to get Dean to look at him. "I've seen this before. When something was really wrong. What's up with you?"

This did succeed in getting Dean to look at him, glaring up at him from under his lashes, emerald eyes dark and lacking in their usual glimmer.

"Nothing's up with me." He growled. "Didn't sleep well last night."

Sam met his gaze for a few seconds, eyes probing and trying to decipher his older brother's expression. Then he turned to the waitress who was passing by their table.

"Can we get our check please?" he asked, and she nodded, smiling.

"Of course sir." She said, turning and walking away. Sam turned back to Dean, who had turned to stare moodily into his coffee. They didn't say anything to each other as the waitress returned with their bill, which Sam paid before following Dean, who had already stood and begun walking briskly to the door.

Without a word they got into the Impala, Dean driving them back to their motel. The minute they were inside the door, Sam closed and locked it, turning to his brother, who was facing away from him, opening a beer and taking a long drink from the bottle.

"Okay, what's going on?" Sam demanded. Dean remained silent, staring down at the floor, so he continued. "This is about Cas, isn't it? Dude, I know. It's tough. He's my friend too. We'll find a way to fix this."

"No."

Sam faltered at the single word, and the way that Dean said it, his voice completely void of emotion. Even more of a monotone than Cas had ever used. He didn't say it argumentatively, just stated it like a completely normal and obvious fact. A solid.

"What?"

"No." Dean looked up at Sam, face serious and eyes cold. Dead-looking.

"I don't..."

"We won't find a way to fix this. We have looked, and looked Sammy, but there is nothing there. This is something completely new. We were headed toward this the minute we ended the Apocalypse. Once we start re-writing the rules, there's no going back, and there's no way of defending against what happens."

"Dean..."

"Cas is gone. All we've got now is the king of all angelic dicks. And that's all that needs saying."

"But..."

"_Leave it, Sam._ I'm going out." Dean shoved past Sam, unlocking the door and half-slamming it behind him. Sam just watched his brother go, hearing the Impala start up and drive off. He sighed, resigning himself to the small kitchen table with his laptop. He would let Dean blow off some steam before they went at this again. He had to believe that there was something that could be done. He _had_ to.

* * *

><p>The silence in the car was deafening, and Dean turned on the radio in desperation to stop the pounding in his head. The blaring music and voices he passed as he searched for a suitable channel only served to hurt his head even more. He shook his head with a soft groan, turning it off again. He was beginning to regret leaving. When he was alone he didn't have anything to hold back or distract his thoughts from the inevitable turn towards the angel. Well, ex-angel.<p>

He would give anything to be able to call his friend, to hear the familiar "Hello Dean" as he appeared, usually without warning and scaring the older Winchester brother shitless. Dean almost managed a soft laugh at the memories of how many times Cas inadvertently surprised him, and how annoying it had been. Funny now that he would be craving that annoying little habit that he had tried to rid his friend of. When he could still be called his friend. Even if Dean bothered calling him, which the hunter had tried many times before to no avail, he wouldn't come. They hadn't seen him since he had disappeared from the building, leaving Sam in a half-dead state, suffering from the breaking of the wall Death had put up for him when his soul had been returned, and Dean and Bobby shocked and confused, and in Dean's case, betrayed.

The hunter fished his phone out of his pocket, keeping his eye on the stretch of road ahead of him as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed someone to talk to, to get his mind off Cas. He had long since given up hope that he would ever see him again, but still, he couldn't keep thoughts of him out of his head. Hell, he'd only just met the angel 2, 3 years ago. But still, after all they had been through, he'd gotten used to life with him always popping in, always looking at Dean with the same intense stare.

When he had completely scrolled through all his contacts, and was brought back up to the top of the list again, the highlighted name being _"Cas"_, he snapped it shut again, stowing it away in his pocket. There was only one person he wanted to talk to, and that person was probably never going to speak to a lowly human such as himself ever again.

Dean pulled over suddenly, into a random expanse of field that he had been passing. He cut the motor and just sat there, listening to his own breathing, rougher than usual. He got out to lean on the hood, staring out blankly into space.

"God..._dammit._" he whispered, depression settling deep into his brain. He bit his bottom lip, dragging his teeth along the soft and sensitive skin. He raised his head, ignoring how cheesy and cliché the action was.

"_Please..._" he whispered again. "Fuck...Cas please..." his voice slowly rising into a hoarse shout. "Please Castiel! Cas! _Please!_" he ducked his head, heaving a sigh. He looked up again. Nothing. He was the only one here. Again.

He took a deep breath, stepping into the Impala again, starting her up, and driving off down the road, turned back in the direction of the motel. He needed a beer.

Not a single tear was shed that night by Dean Winchester. He had long since ceased crying when his calls went unanswered. He had stopped after the first month in fact. Every night when he drove out, again and again, to some random undisturbed place, to call his friend, he would stand there, wait, and leave when once again, no one came. After half a year of this same nightly routine, getting little to no sleep each night because of it, one would think that he would have given up on it. But there was always that little speck of hope that maybe, just maybe, that night would be the night he would come. And he left brokenhearted as ever every night, only to repeat the next day.

* * *

><p>Castiel watched the car disappear down the road with cool eyes. His head cocked to the side in its signature curious gesture, but something about it lacked the cuteness the action had once held.<p>

_How strange human behavior is_, he thought to himself. Yet another night of watching Dean with polite interest as he once again attempted to contact him. He saw no point in conversing with the human, no reason to. What wisdom could possibly be offered by such an insignificant speck? He didn't remember what he had seen in the Winchesters before beyond orders, nor did he understand why he had always ached so for the elder brother's company.

_A weakness._ He decided. _A human weakness developed from too much contact with them. My mistake._

He didn't remember what it felt to love, what he had used to feel for his friends before he had gained such escalated power and status. He had forgotten the feeling of family, and everything he had slowly learned with the brothers. He couldn't remember the feelings, the sensations that he no longer had, so he had no way of missing them.

So without a second glance, he flew away from the spot, back up to heaven, all thoughts of Dean and the human's nightly calls instantly forgotten and shoved away.

Meanwhile Dean was lying in his motel bed, eyes wide open.

"Where did you go, Cas?" he whispered, rolling over and forcing himself into an uneasy sleep to repeat the same cycle again tomorrow.

"_Here I am once again  
>I'm torn into pieces<br>Can't deny it can't pretend  
>Just thought you were the one<em>

_Broken up deep inside_  
><em>But you won't get to see the tears I cry<em>  
><em>Behind these hazel eyes"<em>


End file.
